Perch @perchingpath@eldritch.cafe

Gayfeather, colic-root, rattlesnake-master, blazing star,( devil's bite, Cahaba torch, prairie-pine,) I took your list to that fireworks store in Upland, gathered & checked off each rocket, then imagined how you'd stare at a forest fire (guilty? gleeful?) as I put them all back.

I've cleaned between the bookcases.

The paths by the big creek are offering a markedly tempting poisoned menu this month. Every little bird out there recommends the possum grapes on the peppervine for deƨsert.

If you want to coax me into something against my inclination, you're best off approaching me in my sleep. I'm listening to a Roy Acuff album because I dreamt someone told me to, and so far I can't endorse that figment's advice one bit.

Dreamt of a film, Cleopatra Antonov.
Its poster: the star (fetchingly rat-faced, small mustache, short purple hair) against snow, looking away, fearful.
A clip: They tell a grim knot of nonplussed cops of encountering "some meat...", then clarify "a wall of meat" to dawning recognition.

A man on the impoundment bridge confidently told me something plausible about the shyness of terns, and within 20 minutes a tern approached to contradict him. This could happen to anyone. Couch your avian observations equivocally and impart them in whispers when birds may be near.

A single line, inscribed in duckweed by frog-snout,
before its annihilative translation by great egret scholars.

My air conditioner developed a distressed rattle, violent enough to shift me from bed, and half an hour of fiddling & worry couldn't settle it a whit. Then it spat a wet little scrap of foam rubber against my chest and first it, then I, calmed right down. Exactly like having an infant, really.

Visit a building in a half-fleshed skeletal phase of their renovation, plan a sequence of beams & panes to chew through when your next teeth come in. Stick, punctilious, to those steps.

This time it sounds like getting hooked by the Aliso evening undertow, losing track of the sky, and feeling only the blithest, most playful fear because you're a flitting fish child coming up on the chill of the breeze. A bonfire follows the track.
https://telefon-tel-aviv.bandcamp.com/track/what-it-is-without-the-hand-that-wields-it

It's very nearly self-parodic that the song most reliably able to bring me to tears is eleven minutes long and largely about birds, but
"behind Land house a gentle cooing
the delight of once again being home"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FaT7ZCxI71k

Board

Room

Dream-stumbled into an urban mine and pocketed a nodule of prosodolite (formed from centuries of pitch drabs slopped from jewelers' pots & the yaps of passersby).

"...twenty minutes of 'bleating'."